Steve was always thin. As a child he was described as hyperactive and very mischievous. In actuality, he misbehaved so no one would expect the perfection he expected of himself, and his "hyperactivity" was a method of maintaining his perceived femininity. Not that he wanted to be a girl, necessarily. He just thought it made him more attractive, more angelic. When he hit his teens the hyperactivity reached new heights. He ran track, the manliest sport he could find that wouldn't require special equipment - or massive muscles. He continued his physical pranks as well, always the naughty boy. It kept him busy, let him eat whatever he wanted without losing the super slim figure he relished so. He was one of the lucky ones.
That's what he thought, anyway.
In his early to mid-twenties he didn't have to maintain any of his hyperactivities to stay trim. He'd decided to try to make it in the music industry, a career move that made for lean times, and therefore very light eating. After a decade of slammed doors, ruined dreams and near starvation Steve decided to pack it in and head for home. When he got there, his mother nearly fainted at the sight of him. When he'd left home at seventeen, he still had a growth spurt left. He was barely five feet tall and was about 120 pounds of lean muscle.
The man on her doorstep was five-five and 111 pounds.
His mother took him in without question and proceeded to nurse him back to health. His father offered him a job on the farm, knowing his son preferred heavy, physical work. Steve took the job gratefully, glad not to be a burden on his parents (and to have an outlet for the rich foods his sweet mama insisted on feeding him). Before his 28th birthday he was strong and tanned, body ripped with the long, skinny muscles of someone that moved quickly and frequently, a feline body. He was 125 pounds.
The year at home was rewarding, filled with the simple pleasures of just living. The work was hard, but in his mind, much easier than hustling for a job that wouldn't pay in the short or long run. He began to make plans to put his name on the family business permanently, putting away the childish dreams of stardom and notoriety.
Ironically, a band he could never get one audition for stumbled across one of his tapes still floating around in the club scenes and decided they had to have him. It took three phone calls to get him to leave the farm behind.
Steve went to meet the band in person and was thoroughly amused by their reaction. His thick, glossy, waist-length, wine-red hair, large European nose, striking lavender eyes and unbelievably petite build made for one hell of an impression. They obviously remembered telling him to take a hike every time he told them he could sing. He took a perverse level of satisfaction in knowing the demos they heard couldn't begin to touch the power of his live performance.
They gave him a week to learn the entire set. They were setting out for a three state tour, and they wanted him on the road with them. They never even tried to play the 'we'll see' game. They figured since they had to pull teeth to get him off the farm there was no point in beating around the bush. If he didn't want to play with them, he'd just go home.
The tour was hard work, but it came easily to the former class clown. All the silly, zany things he tried in school he tried on stage, and was gratified by the audience's approval. The band's small legion of faithfuls multiplied by leaps and bounds with the addition of their charismatic new lead singer. With a larger fan base came more work. More work brought more money. More money in the hands of each musician meant more of whatever he thought most precious and luxurious. To the lead singer, that meant food.
There the trouble began.